Lost.

When we were little my sister and brother and I would play games.
For hours. The three of us.
Checkers, Slap Jack, Monopoly, a game called Pay Day.
The list was long.
Many times it was just my sister and me and board games might last a couple of days if there was snow on the ground and no school.
Sometimes I won and sometimes she did.
Winning as a kid doesn’t get you much.
5 seconds of sibling fame erased by 10 minutes horse or horseshoes depending on the season.
When you’re a kid and you lose you want to automatically play again to rectify your defeat. Even if it was best 2 out of 3.
Then 3 out of 5.
You might lose and it’s ok. Because then it’s time for dinner and then Happy Days and then something else and tomorrow is another day. If it snows you can start all over again.
When you are an adult losing is different.
As an adult it’s never best 2 out of 3. It’s damn sure not 3 out of 5.
It’s all or nothing.
You did or did not get that 2nd interview, the 2nd date, the 2nd glance.
You shake hands with the other side and wish them well.
Good luck finding the right girl or boy and all of that.
Best wishes. It was my pleasure.
My pleasure.
These days everyone must win and when they win they must really win.
Win big any way you can because winning lasts.
According to the winners.
These days bad winners make the losers feel bad. In some cases bad losers make the winners feel good.
Or so it goes in the adult world.
Right now there’s no snow on the ground or time for a redo. Or Happy Days on the TV.
And close doesn’t even count in horseshoes.

I'm Michelle. This is my blog. I write about women and fatness, expound upon semi-coherent thoughts I have in the middle of the night, and offer tough love to those in whom I am disappointed; they are legion.